A Microcosm In Terza Rima Quiet I lay at last, and knew no… Whether I breathed or not, so wor… With the death-struggle. What was… Neither I met, nor turned from it…

‘Traveller, what lies over the hil… Traveller, tell to me: Tip-toe-high on the window-sill Over I cannot see.’ ‘My child, a valley green lies the…

For years eighteen she, patient so… Her eyes had graveward sent; Her earthly life was lapt in dole, She was so bowed and bent. What words! To her? Who can be ne…

A power is on me, and my soul must… To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom… With those white-headed children.… To commune with thy setting, and t… My doubts on thy grey hair; for I…

The times are changed, and gone th… When the high heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them l… And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when he…

When I am dead unto myself, and l… O Father, thee live on in me, Contented to do nought but pay my… And leave the house to thee, Then shall I be thy ransomed-from…

WE are a shadow and a shining, we… One moment nothing seems but what… Nor aught to rule but common circu… Nought is to seek but praise, to s… A moment more, and God is all in…

Dark stranger on the teeming map o… Fabric, that seem’€™st a thing ali… From aught that nature or that art… To me a mystery thou ever art; And awe and wonder stir me when th…

Oh that a wind would call From the depths of the leafless wo… Oh that a voice would fall On the ear of my solitude! Far away is the sea,

Where the bud has never blown Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown Fatal is the letter. In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored,

Why dost thou want to sing When thou hast no song, my heart? If there be in thee a hidden sprin… Wherefore will no word start? On its way thou hearest no song,

With us there is no gray fearing, With us no aching for lack! For the morn it is always nearing, And the night is at our back. At times a song will fall dumb,

’Tis not the violent hands alone t… The curse, the ravage, and the dow… Although to these full oft the yaw… Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener… A more immortal agony will cling

The warl it’s dottit wi’ hames As thick as gowans o’ the green, Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave To him wha there opent his een. An’ mony an’ bonny’s the hame

King Cole he reigned in Aureoland… But the sceptre was seldom in his… Far oftener was there his golden c… He ate too much, but he drank all… To be called a king and to be a ki…